Honor Transcends: A Warlock in the Argent Crusade
by Tabbykitty101
Summary: Hilde Holenheim has come to Dalaran to devote herself to the Argent Crusade, and become a living symbol of the Light. She must reflect on her life, and explore the path that has led her to Northrend in defiance of her demonic heritage.
1. The Ritual

Hilde stood at the window, staring out into the darkening skies over Dalaran. A light misty rain streaked the fanciful towers, sliding down the brightly plastered buildings to chatter prettily out of the gnomish-designed gutters. Not a single breath of wind touched the curtains at her sides. Here in the floating city of the mages, such simple pleasures as the touch of the breeze were rigidly controlled.

She turned back towards the brightly-lit interior of her loaned room. It was circular, and richly decorated in fine tapestries and plush cushions. A pallet close to the window served as both bed and lounge. A small closet occupied the wall closest to the tiny washroom. Her worn traveling bag was propped at the foot of bed, with her cloak folded carelessly over the top. A large floor-length mirror completed the space, capturing the last rays of daylight and beaming them throughout the room.

Hilde picked up her latest project, a robe imbued against the powers of frost, and made a few tiny stitches before dropping it back to the floor. She paced back to the window, frowning. Arms crossed, she stared into the growing night; her eyes drawn to the north and to the jagged mountains of Icecrown.

The door opened softly behind her, and closed with a snap. She turned her head, giving a nod of greeting to the dark-haired woman who entered.

"All is in readiness," the arrival said, her voice smooth as honeyed silk. She pushed back the thick green hooded cloak, revealing features as delicate as porcelain. Her amber eyes traveled over the girl in front of her, taking in her face and position in a flicker. "This is not exactly a night to dwell on whether or not you'd rather be fighting the Scourge."

"It dwells at the edge of all my thoughts," Hilde sighed. She smoothed a tendril of her long ashen-blonde hair back over her shoulder. "I know Lord Fordring sent me here for a purpose, but I still feel like I should be with the rest of the crusade in Icecrown."

"He sent you to me to teach you how to live, and if you were worthy, to take the oath as a maiden of the crusade. As such, it will be up to me to decide when and if you return to forward line of the crusade against the traitor Prince."

"Yes, Lady Alessandra," Hilde sighed. She turned from the window and stretched out a hand for her simple yellow cloak. "Shall we go then?"

Alessandra's hand shot out, gripping Hilde's wrist tightly. "There is no room for doubts in this. For you to take this oath and make this pledge, you will give yourself body and soul to the crusade. If there is any hint, any nagging worries in your heart, back out now."

Hilde frowned and pulled her wrist free. Her pale green eyes met the dark amber ones steadily as she grabbed her cloak. "There is nothing else I have ever wanted as much as to serve the crusade." She swung the cloak around her shoulders, pulling the folds up to shroud her features. "I may be a _warlock _but I have my honor."

Alessandra flicked the hood of her cloak up as well, and motioned for the other to follow. They exited onto the great spiraling stairs of the mighty tower, steadily revolving down, down, down to the ground floor. The tower opened onto one of the many plaza squares in the city. A muted glow from the many ensorcelled sconces cast a cheery glow into the darkness of evening. Alessandra led the way through the well-travelled streets, twisting and turning, until finally reaching a small shop-front close to the great Violet Citadel's walls. The shop was already shuttered against the evening, but the two women walked in without pause.

They slid off their cloaks, placing them on the convenient pegs close to the door. Alessandra turned and muttered a spell, sealing the door firmly against any other visitors.

The heavy scent of inks and steel hung in the air, interspersed with flowery scents and sharp, tangy smells. Drying herbs and bits of fauna of all types hung from racks on the walls. Carefully labeled bottles of unguents and potions lined the shelves. And in the center of the room, two stools and a table stood bathed in light.

Hilde stepped forward, trailing a finger down the table. It was fitted with a mattress, and a small sewn-in pillow for the head. Two spurs formed a Y shape at the top; each spur fitted with shining buckles and straps. More straps lay in readiness along the edge of the table.

"Greetings Master Phu'lou," Alessandra said, clapping her hands together and bowing. Hilde turned to see an old tuskarr making his way into the room, his eyes seemingly coated in a milky film. He bowed in answer, and turned to look at her, blowing out air through his whiskers.

"This is the young lady? She is very beautiful." Master Phu'lou stepped forward, his ancient hands cupping Hilde's face. "A warlock, if I'm not mistaken. Hard to miss the demon blood in those eyes. Interesting to see one want to serve the Argent Crusade."

His wrinkled fingers traced the outline of Hilde's face while his lips pursed in concentration. "A great deal of pain I see in this one. She was lost for a long time in the madness." He turned, his eyes focusing on Alessandra. "It will be as it was with you, my Lady."

Alessandra caught her breath. At Hilde's questioning look, she shook her head. "He means it will be painful."

"Pain doesn't concern me," Hilde said shortly. "I am ready for this."

Master Phu'lou nodded. "I can see the shape and the pallet already. While I mix the colors, please disrobe and get on the table. Lady Alessandra, please strap her down."

Hilde unbuttoned her robe and folded it carefully before placing it on one of the few empty spaces on a nearby shelf. She slipped out of her other garments, and reached out for the sheet Alessandra was already holding out to her. With the other woman's help, she stretched out on the table on her stomach, her head pillowed, her arms stretched out along the spurs. Alessandra took the lower half of the sheet and folded it over Hilde's feet, stretching it back up to cover her from toe to buttocks.

"Stretch out your hands," she commanded softly. Hilde flexed her fingers as the first strap locked her right hand into place. A moment later her left hand was likewise immobilized. Alessandra worked her way down the table, each strap fastening Hilde tightly to the platform. The final tie came around her neck, pinning her in place.

Alessandra sat on the stool just in front of Hilde's eyes. Her clasped hands were all that filled the warlock's vision. From just over her shoulder, Hilde could hear the soft murmuring of the master mixing his inks, and the clink of tools being readied.

"Lady Hilde du Holemhein, you have been chosen to become a maiden of the Argent Crusade, to serve the crusade in this life and beyond." Alessandra's voice slid with practiced formality through the quiet air. "This is a sacrifice that cannot be compelled, but must be embraced. To that end, to mark your devotion, your body shall take up the brand of the sword. Accept the pain and be cleansed by pain, to enter the fires as a truly righteous warrior for the light."

The clasped hands separated, moved, formed the sign of the light over Hilde's nose, before dropping back into the woman's lap. Hilde took a deep breath as she felt a light pressure at each shoulder blade, then in the middle of her back. The pressure traced down her spine to nearly the swell of her buttocks, before retreating back up. A hand pushed her hair aside and over her shoulder, and the pressure returned just to the base of the neck strap.

"I have the outline, my lady," Phu'lou's voice echoed, close to Hilde's captive ears. "You must remain as relaxed and still as you can while I work."

Hilde took a deep breath and tried to force her muscles to relax. After an endless moment of waiting, a white-hot needle of pain flared in her left shoulder. Her breath hissed out between her teeth, and her nails dug into the padded spurs.

"Men have trials by combat, trials of thought, trials of reason. We are women, Hilde. We are defined by our suffering. It lives in our eyes, in our faces. It marks us, and gives us strength. This is a trial as excruciating as any faced by a man." Alessandra's hands moved in a slight undulation, and just at the edge of her hearing Hilde sensed the spell being woven. The other woman's fingers moved in punctuation to each flick and jab of the needle into the warlock's back.

"We must surrender our pain to achieve clarity. That is what this trial is about. You must focus on your past, on your grief, and the things that cause you anguish. As the needle draws the sword, so does the pain leech from our souls. The memories are faded toys that still can prick. It is time to lay them aside. Focus on them, face them, and cast them aside. The light gives us purpose and strength to overcome."

Hilde bared her teeth, her fingers gashing into the stuffing in a vain attempt to clench tight. Her left shoulder burned and ached in an ever-growing circle. Alessandra's hands folded in her lap, no longer giving her even that simple distraction. A blade squeaked against her flesh, blurring her vision in a haze of pain.

"Focus, Hilde. Focus on the past."


	2. Unwanted Child

It was raining. It had been raining for hours as she sat on the porch, wrapped in a blanket against the chill. Blurrily in the distance, farmers grimly tilled the muddy soil. Even the plants and flowers surrounding the little houses bent low to the churned ground, looking weary and defeated.

It was the tinkling of harness bells that drew her eyes up the lane. A small covered wagon approached through the ruts, guided by a slouched figure wrapped in black. However, it was the strange beasts pulling the wagon that caught the eye.

They appeared to be midnight black horses, but their feet glowed with white-hot flame. Puddles hissed and steam roiled at each hoof-beat. Their manes and tails moved and danced with flames, echoing the rolling red eyes just visible behind the leather binders. One tossed its head and whinnied, giving the child clear view of the fangs inhabiting its mouth.

The door opened behind her, and she sensed her parents standing in the opening.

"About time he got here," her father grumped. "At least it's nice and public, so everyone will know the little demon is gone."

"You never will forgive me will you?" her mother sighed. "How was I supposed to know? My mother never told me she had demon blood in her." The little girl's head burned as she imagined her mother's eyes boring in to the back of her head. "Well, we know now. No more mistakes. This one will be gone. Maybe we can adopt?"

The wagon was closer now, close enough to make out the scaley hides of the horses, and the dark, rat-like features of their driver. A quick glance showed faces at every window, some set in frowns of disapproval, others looking grimly satisfied.

"Momma, who is that man?" The little girl half-turned, only to be met with a swinging buffet to the side of her head.

"I don't want to see those witch eyes!" Her mother snapped. "This is the man who is taking you to Lordaeron, to be with others like you. Filthy demon-bloods, mixing with normal folk. At least in Lordaeron they'll teach you to serve the crown properly."

"But Momma, I don't want to go!"

"Do you remember what happened to Tommy Smithson?" Her father asked. The little girl hung her head.

"I didn't mean to do it…it just happened. I won't do it again, I promise!"

"May as well promise to end all wars while you're at it. You nearly killed that boy with that demon curse you threw on him. That doesn't count the dog you killed with that infernal fire, or the flaming rocks you made rain from the sky onto Farmer's Scholson's field. You're not fit to live with normal people."

The wagon stopped in front of their little cottage. The girl shrank back against her parents' legs, staring upwards at the man descending from the seat. He wasn't overly tall, but the hooded dark cloak made him seem huge and bat-like. His eyes were a dull orange, like the last winter carrot in some rotting cellar. His lengthy nose caught the rain, and it dripped ceaselessly down his front.

"I can see in her eyes, this is the child I've come for," he rasped. He pulled a small bag from his cloak, and handed it over her head. "There's the agreed-on price. Twenty-five gold pieces for this one."

"You will ensure she gets to Lordaeron in a timely manner? And is properly placed?"

The man smiled. "She will be properly placed and trained for service. I can guarantee that." He looked down, full in the child's face. She recoiled, only to be shoved forward hard by her father's knee. "Time to go, little one. We have many miles to go, and the felsteeds are anxious to be off." He glanced back up at her parents. "Does she have any baggage?"

"Just this," her mother answered, handing over a small satchel. "Several changes of clothes and a few toys."

The man grabbed it, leaned around and tossed it in the back of the wagon. "Now my lovely, time to go."

The young girl tried to scream as the man's hands reached for her, but found her voice choked off. Then she saw it. The man's lips were moving slightly, casting something to silence her. A smile curved the edges of his mouth as he noticed her gaze. His tone changed, and she found herself as limp as a kitten in the mouth of its mother. Without effort the man swung her up, and into the back of the wagon. The rough feel of sacks underneath her fingers, and the browned canvas of the top filled her world as she struggled to scream and thrash in vain.

She heard a few more words, then the sharp crack of the whip, and the wagon lurched forward. It seemed like hours that she lay immobile, jerking back and forth in time to the hoof-beats, the sharp whip lashes and the curses of the driver the only thing filling her universe. Only her tears managed to leak out of her frightened eyes, slipping down her cheeks to wet the canvas below.

With a sudden jerk, the wagon stopped. Footsteps squelched in the wet ground, and the man appeared at the open end of the wagon. He reached in casually and grabbed the girl's front, pulling her into a sitting position. With his other hand he grabbed her satchel.

"Listen girl. If half of what your parents told me is true, you are smart enough to understand. You have demon blood, and you've already been able to pull off curses and spells without being trained. You're a warlock born. These idiots out here can't understand that. They see you setting fire to things and think it's a bad thing. It's not. It's wonderful. The power to destroy is an amazing tool."

He opened the satchel, pulling out the folded clothes and the tiny patchwork stuffed kitten she'd had since she was born. He made a face and chucked each item out into the muddy road. The little girl squeaked in outrage, jerking slightly as if to leap out after her belongings. The man looked up and slapped her hard across the face.

"Your parents sold you, girl. I don't know what they said to you, but you're going to go to an exclusive place to learn how to serve the Master's glory. Everything from your old life is rubbish." He pulled out a long black robe and laid it on the sacks. It was quickly joined by a set of shabby black trousers and shirt, and scuffed black shoes.

"I will release you to change. You have two minutes. Do not try to run, or I will punish you severely. There are ways that don't leave marks."

The girl swallowed a sob as the man disappeared, her shaking hands reaching for the dark clothing. It didn't take long to switch garb. The man reappeared almost as soon as she finished, gathering up her old clothing and tossing them into the mud. She saw his lips moving, and all her belongings burst into flames.

"Now we can get started. It's a long way to Scholomance from here. I will leave you free, but don't try to run. And don't you dare attempt to use any magic against me. Garkoz will be watching."

The man reached into his cloak, and drew out a hideous little creature. It giggled and bobbled, flipping and dancing in his hand. It had grossly oversized ears drooping with rows of silvered rings. Sharp claws glinted in each hooked finger. The man tipped his hand, flipping the little monster into the wagon. The girl scooted back as far as she could, while the creature cavorted. The man laughed and vanished around the corner. Moments later the whip cracked and the wagon lurched. Over the shoulder of the creature, the little girl watched her belongings burn and slowly fade in the distance, only her tears marking the time.


	3. Scholomance and the Scourge

She was ten now, and she had a new name. She was called Hilde, after one of the most well-known mistresses of the demon realm. She had been at Scholomance nearly six years. The island of Caer Darrow and its small village were her entire world, aside from the rigorous studying and schooling. She had been among the first in her class to defeat the more advanced demon called a voidwalker, and bind it to her will. She called her voidwalker Fogg, and it was her constant companion.

In recent weeks she'd noticed something strange though. The villagers acted frightened whenever a teacher appeared in their midst. Older students would go down into the crypts below the school and vanish. Wagons rolled almost constantly out from the storehouses, headed towards Andorhal on the other side of the lake. It made for a strangely tense atmosphere, that she couldn't escape even by burying herself in her codexes.

It was the darkest part of the night when the echoing voice of Fogg woke her up. The tenseness manifested immediately into a painful clench in her stomach. Hilde sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes.

"What is it, Fogg?"

"Missstresss," Fogg hissed, his voice resounding hollowly off the stone walls. "Come." His pointed fingers tapped at the grimy window. Hilde slid out of bed, and peered outside.

Below, the gates to Caer Darrow were flung open wide. Ruddy torchlight bounced off the small cottages. The entire causeway to the mainland seethed with bodies, their dark shapes moving and twisting as far as she could see. Shapes in black robes knelt at the front, surrounding a knot of terrified villagers. But outshining even the torches was the massive spectral figure at the head of the procession. Unearthly purple light spilled from its writhing robe, the folds granting brief glimpses of glimmering bone.

"That's a lich!" Hilde whispered, horror edging her voice. She bent down so only her eyes were visible above the sill. A movement jerked her attention towards the main doors of the school, now swinging open. The small cadre that emerged was familiar and comforting. It was the Barovs, and headmaster Gandling. Although she hadn't seen them in some time, their presence against the lich was promising. Hilde snuck a hand up to the fastening, edging open the window to better hear.

"Ras Frostwhisper, we stand ready to receive orders from Kel'Thuzad," Alexei Barov intoned. The small group from Scholomance sank to their knees, bowing before the glowing Lich. Hilde gulped in air, her fingers digging into the windowsill.

"Kel'Thuzad is coming soon to fulfill the promises made to all of you. The plague is proceeding as scheduled, due to your efforts." The booming voice of the Lich rattled the windows.

"We have welcomed the Cult of the Dammed within our walls. We have financed the bringing of children from all over Lordaeron to serve the master," Lady Illucia Barov said, flicking her cloak backwards. "All is in readiness for the Scourge's opening strike."

"And those students of power are ensconced below?" the Lich asked.

"All but the children under the age of twelve. They are still in the school above. Those having been found worthy have already sworn loyalty to the Scourge." Lady Illucia shrugged her narrow shoulders. "Keep the younger ones, or kill them."

"Death is irrelevant," the Lich growled. "They will serve in life or in death. Only the master's will matters." The Lich turned, his skeletal fingers slicing through the air.

"My devoted cultists, enter and secure the young. Take the villagers into our crypts below. There is much to be done before Kel'Thuzad arrives."

Hilde backed away from the window, her mind racing. Her thoughts ricocheted in circles, her eyes flying over the contents of her room. With every beat of her heart, her mind screamed. The Scourge was evil incarnate. For the first time in six years, she heard the voice of her mother inside her mind.

"The Scourge turns people into monsters. If you are bad, they will come for you. And you'll be just like them. So you better be good, or they will know."

Her hands shot out, closing on her clothes. She threw on her robe and shoved her feet into her shoes. She grabbed at her small knife and tied it quickly to her waist.

"Fogg, go and find a way out, now! And if you can, find me a spellbook and a wand."

Her voidwalker gave a growl of acknowledgement, and swept out through the door. By now, Hilde could hear the frantic stirrings from all the rooms around her. Most of the children had been awakened by their familiars it seemed, and were reacting in similar fashion.

She had just swung on her cloak when the Fogg reappeared. In one hand was a tattered book, in the other a chipped wand. Hilde took both gratefully, sliding the book down her front, and gripping the wand tightly in her fist.

"Misssstresss, thisssss way," Fogg echoed. Cautiously Hilde swung open the door, and peeked into the hallway.

It was bedlam. Children of all ages were running in an odd assortment of garments, darting this way and that. Their familiars squawked and howled, pointing in various directions. But over the chaos, Hilde could hear footsteps coming up the main stairs.

Fogg growled, and Hilde turned to chase him. He was already sliding away into the darkness away from the stairs. She shoved and pushed her way through the throng, ducking under flailing arms, kicking demons out of the way. The instant the cult members appeared, a deafening series of screams shook the walls. She could hear the murmured spells, managing to throw herself onto the floor as total panic gripped the throng. Children went running aimlessly, their eyes bulging with terror. A glance back showed the cultists calmly picking their way through the children, immobilizing them as they went.

Long blue fingers closed on her wrist and yanked her up. Fogg drug her around the corner, away from the chaos, and to an open window. He picked her up effortlessly, hanging her out the window, and then dropping her to the roof below. He slid through the opening himself, before pointing off to the east.

Hilde ducked low, quickly following the roofline until one of the small thatched cottages of the village appeared nestled against the great walls. Taking a tighter grip on the wand, she jumped onto the thatching, sliding and tumbling to the edge before falling to the ground in a heap. Pain shot through her body, but she forced herself up. Fogg pointed again, this time towards the lake and the small boathouse.

It was the rattle of a pebble that warned her, giving her just enough time to worm between the house and the stone walls before a group of black-robed cultists appeared. The torch they carried distorted their forms, making them massive and spidery. Between them they carried two children, both limp. She caught snippets of laughter as they disappeared around the bend.

"Fogg," Hilde whispered, "How many are out there?"

"Many, Misssstresss. Sssstay."

Hilde pulled her cloak up around her face, hiding her light hair. She tried to burrow further into the thatch of the walls, her eyes darting back and forth in the gloom. Her sweaty fingers squeezed tighter and tighter on the wand. Patrols continued wicking in and out of her vision, often bearing struggling or limp victims. The screams from the school above were fading, until finally they vanished. All that remained was the calm wash of the lake against the shore, and the muted rustling of the cultists still filing into Scholomance. She and her demon were alone, vastly alone, in the remains of the village.

Dawn, when it eventually came, touched the sky with leaden fingers. As the first streaks illuminated the heavens, Hilde slid from her hiding place. Her whole body shook as she scurried across the path, weaving crablike down to the boathouse. The boathouse itself was securely padlocked, but a flash from underneath the dock caught her eye. With a gulp, Hilde slid down the small embankment and landed on the sandy shore.

Three sets of panicked eyes met hers. A boy and a girl were huddled in the small fishing boat bobbing in the surf. A third child, a tall boy, was frozen in the act of pushing off.

"Were you followed?" the tall boy asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Hilde shook her head. The boy reached out and grabbed her arm, dragging Hilde into the boat. Fogg growled softly, but at Hilde's gesture floated into the craft. The tall boy grunted quietly and shoved hard, sending the vessel out into the lake before jumping in himself.

"Make your voidwalker row," he ordered. "We're going to get help from Andorhal."

Once Hilde nodded, Fogg picked up the oars and began to move, propelling the craft out into the lake. Without a word, the four cowered down in the bottom of the boat.

"Who are you?" Hilde asked. The tall boy, leaning forward to check their progress, flicked his eyes back at her.

"Gaius. This is Helena and Castor. We're mages. You?"

"Hilde. Warlock. This is my minion Fogg. How did you get out?"

"I had a brother who was taken below two weeks ago. He sent his elemental up to me last night and told me to get out. Helena and Castor are my friends. We snuck out as soon as it got dark and hid until we could get away." Gaius shivered. "I saw them gathering up the townspeople. There are worse things with them then just the Lich."

"Much worse," Helena squeaked. She and Castor shuddered and clung closer together.

Hilde turned away from them, glancing back over the waves towards Caer Darrow. In the cold grey of the early morning, everything looked peaceful and serene. Only the conspicuous emptiness of the cottages spoke to the upheaval of the night before.

The four remained quiet, as the voidwalker effortlessly rowed. The indistinct shapes of Andorhal slowly coalesced in the morning light, drawing ever nearer. They were nearly at the shore closest to the town when Fogg abruptly stopped rowing.

"What the…make him start again!" Gaius snapped, popping up to look. "We're almost there!"

"Missstresss…" Fogg echoed. "Bad."

Hilde sat up and followed the point of the voidwalker's fingers. At first, nothing seemed awry. Shapes flickered amongst the buildings, as if the villagers were heading out to start their day's activities. Yet, as they sat, the unnatural stillness became apparent. Not a single animal cried in the fields, or sang in the air. No voices punctuated the dawning of a new day.

It was a growl that broke the stillness. The four sets of eyes suddenly riveted to the figure standing in the surf, only feet away. Dimly burning eyes stared at them from a rotting frame. Tatters of clothing hung around its shape. White bone glistening from within flesh teaming with squirming maggots caught the early light. Its mouth gaped open, a swollen black tongue protruding over its teeth.

"Braiiinnsss," it hissed. From everywhere, figures began to stir. Tall, short, fat, skinny…all shapes rose from the ground, each taking up the hissing cry. They stumbled towards the shore, their rotting bodies dripping in their haste to reach them.

"Fogg, row!" Hilde screamed. The voidwalker growled in acknowledgement, already beginning the backwards pull. But it was too late. The first rotten hand grabbed the prow, sending Helena and Castor into the water punctuated by twin howls of terror. Gaius stood up, quickly firing off a flame blast to the monster's face. Swarming around the boat, numerous hands grabbed and rocked the frame, shredding the wood. Releasing the oars, Fogg grabbed Hilde's arm, launching her into the roiling water away from the creatures.

Lake water filled her eyes, shooting up her nose. Hilde gasped and thrashed back to the surface, instinctively turning towards the boat. She saw the dark shape of her voidwalker grappling with several of the monsters. Gaius was standing on what was left of boat, shooting intermittent blasts of frost and fire at the knot of monsters just on shore. Of the twins there was no sign.

Hilde coughed and dove back into the water. She released the wand, her hands moving quickly to cast the one spell that could save her. Just as she felt her lungs begin to burn, a sense of coolness moved over her body. She took an experimental breath, and felt the enchantment take hold. As long as she could keep the spell active, she wouldn't drown

She swam down to the murky bottom, her eyes nearly useless in the gloom. Dimly the thrashing continued behind her, muted by the water. Hilde began swimming away, following the hint of Andorhal's bridge shadow in the water. She paused only once, when the sharp blow in her heart told her her faithful demon had been slain.

The sun was high in the sky, though hidden by clouds, when she pulled herself from the water. Her arms burned, and for a long moment all she could do was lie on the shore and vomit up water. It was the rustling from close by that got her moving, dragging her sodden clothes up and away from the shoreline, into the weeds and rushes, and finally into the trees.

That day and night stretched into eternity. Hilde lay cowering in the brush, dug in under a pile of dead leaves near the edge of Andorhol's graveyard. More rotting creatures moved back and forth through the markers, occasionally stopping to claw at the ground. They moved without seeming to have a purpose, shambling to and fro. It was near dusk when an unfortunate raccoon appeared. The ghouls immediately chased the screaming creature down, ripping it to shreds and feasting on its quivering flesh just feet from Hilde's hiding place.

The second day dawned with stabbing pains in Hilde's belly. She hadn't eaten in a full day. She had no food, and no way to get any. Andorhal appeared completely overrun by the ghouls. She waited beneath the leaves, her mind reeling. If she stayed here, she'd die. If she moved, she'd die too.

It was nearly nightfall when she made up her mind. Shakily and slowly, she slipped out of the brush. Over the course of the day she'd heard the chattering of a stream not too far away. Moving cautiously, she crawled away from the graveyard, her eyes affixed to the shambling shapes until the curving hill obscured them.

It seemed to take hours to reach the stream, still chattering happily in defiance of all the horror surrounding it. Hilde knelt at the edge and gulped the water, feeling some of her energy return. She had just splashed some in her face when a footstep snapped her head to the left.

A figure was standing only feet away. The moonlight illuminated the missing half of its face, the bone protruding from its arms. Hilde stood shakily, her fingers grasping for the wand she'd left at the bottom of the lake. She murmured the first half of a fire curse, seeing the golden light bathe her hands. The light lit up the figure, and Hilde moaned softly.

"Gaius," she whispered. The figure tipped what was left of its head, the bloated mouth cracking open.

"Braiiinnnsss…" it hissed, lurching forward. Hilde shot her hands forward, releasing the curse. Flames immediately lit up the ghoul, and twinkled in the gloom. Hilde screamed, realizing her mistake. Figures were already appearing over the hill, drawn to the dancing flames. Hilde whirled and began to run along the river, blind panic erasing everything else from her mind.

Abruptly, light flared in the darkness. Hilde heard the clink of metal, the squeal of horses, and was grabbed by a gauntleted hand. Figures swept past her in the night, war cries shaking the nearby hills. The groans of the ghouls were cut short, as brutal thuds shook the ground.

Hilde twisted in a vain attempt to escape, but was held fast. Finally, as the figures came back into view, she quieted. They were human, all of them, riding chargers festooned with blue and gold armor. The gauntleted hand released her, as the horses surrounded her.

"What do you make of it, Captain?"

"Looks like a child from Anderhol. Amazing to make it this long."

The speaker stopped his horse in front of her, and leaned down. The moonlight glinted off of his shining armor, and the blood-encrusted mace held in his hand. But his eyes behind the helmet appeared kind. Hilde swallowed hard.

"I am from the school on Caer Darrow," she whispered. "It…"

"A blimey demon cultist!" a voice snapped from the side. "Leave the damnable thing to rot here I say. Or we should kill it, keep it from increasing the population."

The man before her frowned. "This is a child, and regardless of where she is from, the Light teaches us to safeguard children. A du Holemhein is not a child murderer, no matter what the child." He gestured at the other man, shaking his mace. "I will be responsible for her." He stretched out his other hand, offering it.

"We will take you somewhere safe, in the name of the Light I swear it."


	4. Interlude 1

The tears brought Hilde out of her reverie. Her entire back burned. The clasped hands of Lady Alessandra remained just inches from her nose.

"It is our childhood that burns us with its vague shadows," she murmured. Hilde gasped, her hands jerking against the straps in a vain attempt to wipe away the tears. She felt the whisper of Alessandra's breath against her forehead. "But often what marrs us more deeply comes later. You know this. Lord Fordring told me of Christof du Holemhein rescuing you from the wilds around Andorhal, and of your fostering amongst the warlocks of Stormwind. Being given to the Scourge as a monster yourself is hardly what drives you fully in your quest. Something else must have happened."

"How do you know," Hilde hissed from between her gritted teeth.

"I cannot judge your worth unless I can see it," Alessandra answered smoothly. "My spell allows me to see your memories, even those you wish to hide from yourself. I must know that your past has no claims on you. The Crusade is all. You cannot hold back part of your heart if you wish to truly embody this path."

Hilde sensed the woman nodding. "You may begin again, Master Phu'lou."


	5. A Paladin's Hate

Southshore had become a bustling hub of a village, seething with soldiers and refugees. It was the main way station between the rotting lands to the north, and the succor of the southern realms. Dwindling numbers of fleeing Lordaeron citizens arrived every day, desperate to book passage on one of the infrequent vessels ferrying people south.

Hilde leaned around Christof's shoulder, her attention caught by the wide array of people milling about. Soldiers wearing the bright yellow lion of Stormwind flashed in the crowd, shoulder to shoulder with heavily armored dwarves from Ironforge. Occasionally, the colors of Lordaeron would surface, almost exclusively on the hardest-looking fighters. Refugees bobbed through the tide, some softly begging, others simply clinging together and attempting to stare in all directions at once.

"How long will we be here, Cap?" Simon asked from behind. He was second in command of the small troupe, a paladin dedicated to the healing arts.

"Long enough to resupply and check for new orders," Christof answered, flicking his charger's reins to guide him around yet another knot of people. He chuckled softly at the groans from behind him. "Maybe a day, two at the most. No time for wenching and burning through that hard earned coin. Perhaps you all should go to the church and pray instead?"

Hilde leaned her head against the hard armor of Christof's back. Since her rescue, she'd been on patrol with this group for the last six months. It had been six brutal months of searching obliterated villages, slaying the infected, and rescuing those few who had managed to survive. No place in the north was untouched by the Scourge. Through the efforts of the patrols, it had been checked at the Alterac Mountains, but stemming the rot took constant vigilance.

Her eyes drifted, coming into contact with a pair of cold blue eyes. Thorivald Irongrip, the dwarven paladin of the troupe, was glaring at her as usual. It had been Thorivald who'd called for her death next to the river. Most days his hatred was a palpable blanket that threatened to choke her. She'd often awoken late at night to hear him arguing with Christof over having her with them. The other soldiers tried to distract her with jokes and riddles to drown out the muttered slurs, but she had no illusions. Without Christof's protection, she knew Thorivald would have killed her when they'd found her.

They stopped outside the teeming stables, where the stablehands assured them their mounts would be well-cared for. With a flick of his hand, Christof dismissed his soldiers. The men hooted and dispersed, all except Thorivald. He took a step closer before Simon, spotting the issue, grabbed the dwarf's arm and dragged him off towards a ramshackle tavern near the outskirts of the village.

"What do you think of Southshore, Hilde?" Christof asked with a smile. She fell into step beside him, smiling up at him.

"Terribly noisy and dusty." Hilde coughed in emphasis. Christof laughed.

"Only because it's become the de facto base for the Alliance in the area. Eventually this mob will dry up. All these villagers know it, and are soaking every traveler for as much money as they can." He pointed out to the empty wharf. "We've seen it already. There aren't many more survivors from the north. The ships will stop, and it'll become a backwater again. Although, if they are lucky, they'll get a gryphon master stationed here."

"I would like to ride on one one day," Hilde said wistfully. She'd heard all the stories from the other soldiers about riding the great beasts back and forth to every destination in the south. Christof nodded and took her hand, leading her into the shadowed interior of the inn.

"You will before too much longer I'm sure. And now, to business."

The inn was only semi-full. Its worn furnishings and ratty banners spoke to the masses of humanity flowing through the area. Christof led Hilde straight to the older man behind the bar, giving him a slight bow of greeting.

"My daughter and I require lodging for the evening. My daughter requires some new clothes. I would also like a bath, and I need to see your scribe." Christof slid a gold coin across the counter. The innkeeper picked it up, examining each side, before tucking it into his pouch.

"Certainly, my lord. We strive to serve the forces of the Alliance. You are in great luck! We have a small upstairs room available. I will send my girl upstairs with the things for your…daughter." The innkeeper leered slighty, reaching out to chuck Hilde under the chin with his greasy fingers. "She's a pretty one with those eyes. And that hair. You must be very brave, my little lovely, accompanying your…father."

Christof gripped the innkeeper's wrist in his plated grip, stopping his fingers inches from her face. He squeezed hard.

"I do not approve of your insinuations."

The innkeeper grimaced, pulling and twisting in a vain attempt to free his arm. "Sorry, m'lord. A bit of a joke, yes?" He turned and bellowed over his shoulder. "Nina! Get your lazy end up stairs to Four. Draw a bath, get some clothes! Now! Now!" He drew a key from the bunch at his waist. "Here you are m'lord. Room Four. The scribe is in the main dining hall. Just look for the man with all the ink spots."

Christof snorted and dropped the man's hand. He handed the key to Hilde.

"I have some business to attend to. Go upstairs and get cleaned up. When the girl comes with the clothes, pick whatever you like." He slid several pieces of silver into her hand. He smiled and tousled her hair. "I'll be up in a while to get you some dinner."

Hilde smiled, clutching the key and the money tightly. She ventured up the stairs, through the dark hallways to the door marked with a crudely drawn 4. The room inside was clean, but somewhat shabby. A small cot had been set up near the window. A round tub took up the far end of the room, already brimming with steaming water. A table nearby held a mended but neatly laundered robe, and an assortment of soaps and brushes.

Hilde slipped out of her tattered clothes and sank into the water. It was heaven after months off brisk splashing off in ice-cold streams. She scrubbed and soaped over and over, only emerging when she began to prune. She wrapped the robe around herself, and set to brushing her long white hair free of knots.

The innkeeper's girl Nina appeared a short while later with an armful of clothing. She stood silently with eyes averted while Hilde picked through the pile, mumbling prices for each garment. Hilde finally settled on two dark dresses; one green, one blue, with trousers, new underclothes and shoes, and a thick fur-lined leather traveling cloak. She paid the girl, dismissed her, and dressed in her new clothes.

Night was falling outside when a knock sounded at the door. Hilde glanced up from her dog-eared spellbook, dropping the tome on the window sill before opening the door.

It was Thorivald. His long red mustache and beard seemed to bristle at her presence. His bloodshot eyes flicked past her. Hilde almost gagged at the stench of alcohol swimming off him in waves.

"Is Captain Christof here?" He growled. Hilde took a step back, a bolt of warning shooting through her stomach. She gripped the edge of the door and went to slam it shut.

Thorivald kicked the door open and out of her hand. Hilde bolted backwards, behind the tub. The dwarf took a step inside, a cold smile crossing his lips as he swung the door shut.

"Well well, all alone, little demon. I've dreamed about this."

"Get out of here," Hilde snapped. "Christof will be back any moment."

Thorivald laughed, tossing his head backwards. "That is CAPTAIN Holemhein to you, witch! You've managed to hiss your poison into that good man long enough. I'm the only one that sees you for what you are. Monster! Foul and disgusting creature masquerading as a child!" He took another step closer. Hilde bared her teeth, her fingers digging into the wall of the tub. She could just see the glitter of her knife across the room, underneath her old clothes, tantalizing far away.

"You're drunk," Hilde snapped. "Get out of here now, and I won't tell Christof about this."

The dwarf ran a hand down his front. "That's just some cologne, dearie. When they find you, I'll sob and say I was drunk, didn't know what I was doing. I won't even get a reprimand. Not for killing a light-blasted monster. I will at least make it quick, provided you don't struggle. But I hope you struggle, little witch."

Thorivald lunged at her. Hilde dodged to the left, but her feet tangled in the toiletry table, pitching her face-down onto the floor. She felt the immensely strong hands of the dwarf close around her neck and drag her up. The room spun, and she was shoved down into the cold water of the bathing tub. She kicked hard, only to feel the hands shove her deeper into the water.

Hilde thrashed in the water. Something primal exploded in her chest, lending her strength. She felt something bump against her chin, and without hesitation bit down as hard as she could. A furious oath filtered through the water, and the hands vanished from her neck. She twisted her body back, falling off the edge of the tub, sucking in air gratefully.

Thorivald stood several paces away, clutching his bleeding hand. He was muttering curses and shaking the injured limb. Hilde's breath hissed out, her eyes narrowing.

"Agony," she whispered. Thorivald looked up at her, his eyes widening in shock before his body began shaking in pain. Coughing, Hilde pulled herself up, flinging out one hand and weaving another spell.

"Corruption!" she called. Thorivald howled, dropping to one knee. Hilde spread out her fingers, concentrating hard, visualizing the dwarf consumed in flames. Fire began to lick around the outside of his boots, leaping up eagerly.

Abruptly a hard force struck her head, sending her crashing back to the floor. Thorivald stood unsteadily, the spasms and fire fading.

"Didn't expect the light's hammer, did you witch?" he growled. A steely rasp, and a long dirk glittered in his fist. "It'll have to be the messy way now. Can't let you utter any more of those demon spells. Perhaps chop out your tongue first…but no. Someone will have heard the commotion. Best it be quick."

Thorivald grabbed Hilde's face, his hand covering her mouth and hoisting her into the air. She twisted through the haze, conscious of the shining steel flashing towards her chest. Pain ripped through her knee as she made contact with his arm, forcing the dagger up. Agony bloomed along her upper body as the knife tore into her right shoulder. Blood began to pour as Thorivald cursed, changing his grip and driving the dagger towards her heart.

A warm golden glow surrounded Hilde, and the dagger sparked and shattered. Thorivald's eyes jerked back to the doorway. He dropped Hilde to the floor and turned, a strangely victorious smile on his face.

"Captain, so glad you are here. This witch invited me up here, used black arts on me. I was worried about you…"

"Get out, Thorivald, before I send you to the Light myself," Christof snapped. Thorivald spread his hands wide, the smile staying rigidly in place.

"It was only because I serve the Light, that I must destroy evil. This thing is evil! It is the worm that seeks to kill us all!"

Christof reached out, grabbing Thorivald's tunic. He dragged the dwarf close.

"What you have done is attempt to kill a child, who has done nothing but try to defend herself. You should go and pray for the Light to show you the error of yours ways. But so help me, if you do not remove yourself from my sight, I will kill you."

Thorivald pulled free, an insane chuckle shaking his chest. He turned, bowing slightly at the crumpled Hilde, before walking out the door. Christof slammed the door, and quickly knelt at the girl's side. He placed his fingers against the bleeding wound, lips moving silently in a healing spell. The skin re-knit slowly. Christof picked up a towel, dipping it in the water and handing it to Hilde. She began to sponge off the blood, abruptly bursting into tears.

Christof stood up, placing his hand on her head before seating himself on the bed. "I'm sorry, Hilde. Thorivald is a good soldier, but in his way, as much of a fanatic as any we've seen. There are too many fanatics in the world, both good and bad. I would not have left you alone if I thought he would have tried this."

Hilde hiccupped, rubbing the rough towel across her eyes. "I…I'm all right. He surprised me is all."

Christof sighed. "I've been very foolish. A girl of your age should be training for life, not gallivanting around with a bunch of soldiers. I couldn't help it though. You remind me of my own children, and by the Light, it's been like having them with me these last few months. But I should have sent you away where you would have been safe."

Hilde's eyes widened. "No…he just surprised me. I can handle him, I can!"

Christof smiled sadly. "You are an eleven year old girl. Precocious though you are, you are still eleven. There are so many years ahead of you to adventure. Right now you need to learn, so that one twisted person can't surprise you." He pulled Hilde close, hugging her tightly. "I'm sorry, little one, but you know what I say is true."

At her emphatic squeak, he sighed and released her. "And, there is something else." He pulled out a well-folded piece of paper. "New orders. Prince Arthas of Lordaeron is asking for all able-bodied soldiers of the Alliance to join him in sailing to Northrend to deal with the heart of the Scourge threat. We are leaving in the morning to join his convoy north." He gently poked Hilde's forehead. "And you can't come."

"So you're going to leave me in this dirty little town to rot?" Hilde gulped, balling up her fists. Christof shook his head, still smiling sadly as he pulled out two sealed letters.

"This," he indicated the top letter, "is a message to Vivian Shadowblade, a warlock I knew in my youth. She lives in Stormwind, and helps train children like you. This is an introduction, and I am sure she will make you welcome. She owes me a few." He smiled down at her, ruffling her hair. "I made the introduction in the name of Hilde du Holemhein."

He picked up the second letter. Unlike the fresh parchment of the first, it was worn and creased. "This is a writ of safe passage, signed by the Archbishop of Stormwind. No one will dare place a hand on you if you show them this. It will help you get there safely. I've already booked passage for you on the next ship into port. It should be here in two weeks."

Hilde stared up at him, tears pooling in her eyes. She sniffled and hugged the paladin tightly.

Christof put his arms around her. "Life is not kind, Hilde. We have to take things as they come. The Light teaches us to be good, and find happiness where we can. It makes us strong, strong enough to outlast anything that happens." He took Hilde's chin in his fingers. "Pain is temporary. Don't let it mark you. You'll be amazing once you grow up."


	6. Shadowblade

The grand spires of Stormwind loomed on the horizon. Hilde stood at the bow of the great ship, shoulder to shoulder with the other refugees. It had been a journey of months on the laden freighter, standing room only on the crowded deck, to reach the grand kingdom far to the south of the Scourge menace.

Muffled curses came from behind her, as the sailors cuffed their way through the crowd, securing the ship for landing. Hilde stepped closer to the rail, her fingers clenching and unclenching on her small sack of possessions. One hand drifted up to touch the small letter hidden in her bodice like a talisman. It was nearly time to see if Christof's message would guarantee her a home amongst the warlocks of this city.

Although the paladin had left her money to pay for a room in Southshore until the boat arrived, Hilde had checked out the next morning before the dust had even settled behind their horses. The innkeeper's sick leers and promises to "watch over her" had eroded any desire to stay. She had mingled with the other refugees while waiting for the freighter; drifting from campfire to campfire, using her precious coin to purchase meager amounts of food and supplies for the trip. Everything she owned was wrapped within the folds of her leather traveling cloak. And in the end, with the berths far oversold, it was only Christof's writ that ensured she was taken on for the journey south.

The sailors bellowed, sails furled, and the ship settled against the quay with a bump. Dockhands quickly made fast the vessel, and the passenger ramp descended to the dock. Refugees scrambled towards the ramp, many mumbling prayers of thanksgiving. Hilde followed more slowly, her hands tight on her bundled possessions.

The mass of people was jammed at the end of the wharf. Hilde could just see flashes of blue and silver armored guards, in the bold tabards of the city. One was holding a large piece of parchment, while the others were motioning for silence. Finally one guard slammed down a large staff, quieting the mob.

"Refugees of the north, the kingdom of Stormwind welcomes you!" The guard's voice boomed out over the crowd. "In order to ensure no infection of our city, all incoming people must be examined for traces of Scourge contamination. Refusal to submit to examination will be taken as confirmation of infection, and you will be executed!"

Several children in the crowd began to wail, and mutters began to rise. The squad of guards pulled their weapons, the tips gleaming in the early morning light. The initial guard lowered his parchment and snapped his gauntleted fingers.

"Priests, front and center! Form four orderly lines! The priests will conduct the examination."

Four white-robed and heavily cowled figures stepped forward between the guards, glowing with a pale golden gleam. Sullenly, the passengers fell into lines. Each person stepped up to one of these figures, was touched lightly on the head, and received a nod. When it was Hilde's turn, she was struck by the coolness of the fingertips resting on her head, and the glittering eyes behind the cowl, resting just a second too long before she received her nod.

Shifting the bundle in her arms, Hilde began the long walk up the great stone ramps to the city proper. The sun rose behind her, its fiery rays blasting waves of heat down into the stone. She felt like a worm caught between the sky and stone, crawling up the endless ramps.

Finally she reached the top, and turned to look out over the harbor. Most of the other refugees labored below to climb the great ramps. The sun skittered its light over the harbor, shivering its blades of light into sparkles atop each wave. The great ships bobbed sonorously, and workers swarmed; loading and unloading cargo. It was its own little world, far removed from the horrors of the north.

She turned to go through the archway into the city proper, and noticed the guards at either side. Hilde took a deep breath, and approached the nearest sentinel.

"Pardon me, sir, but could you tell me…"

"Just come in on the boat, didntcha?" The soldier chuckled. "Aye the city is overwhelming at the best of times. You want to know where the best inn is? It's The Gilded Rose, in the Trade District. Ah, that Allison is a sight for sore eyes, she is. Best service in town! Just go straight, then take a left, then go over the canal, and follow the street. Tell her Guard Dwight in the Harbor sent ya"

Hilde frowned. "No sir, I don't need the inn right now. I am looking for…"

The female soldier across the way laughed. "Dwight, Dwight, how much is Allison slipping you to keep sending people her way? Look at 'er. It's obvious she's come to visit someone in the Stocks! To the right, over the canal, and straight on to the big fortress, love."

"No, I need the warlocks! Where are the warlocks!" Hilde cried. The female guard shook her head, wrinkling up her nose behind her helmet.

"Bad truck with those folks," Guard Dwight sighed. "But, if that's what ye want to know. Follow the path straight, then take a right. Go over the canals, into the place marked Magic Quarter. You'll be lookin' for a tavern called "The Slaughtered Lamb." That's where they hang out allright."

Hilde nodded her thanks, and stepped out into the city. The cobblestone streets teemed with people. Shopkeepers called from their porches, brightly colored wares flickering in the sunlight. Bells tolled, adding to the din. Mounted figures rushed to and fro, nearly knocking down anyone foolish enough to be in their way.

It took some time to work through the mob, but finally Hilde entered the archway proudly festooned with banners labeling it "Magic Quarter". The din vanished the moment she passed through. An unnatural calm descended, blocking out any hint of the city outside. She wandered the grassy paths, stunned at the huge, fanciful spires and butterfly-like people flitting in and out of them.

On her third circuit, she finally spotted a strange tavern, adorned with a crude sign depicting a beheaded lamb. Hilde took a deep breath and walked inside.

It was empty, save for a darkly colored man behind the bar. His eyes burned a bright green as he stared at her, flicking up and down, then narrowing. He set down his rag and crossed his arms.

"Whatcho want?"

"I need to see Vivian Shadowblade," Hilde said. She patted her upper chest. "I have a message for her."

"Give to me. She get."

"No, I need to see her personally."

The man spat and snapped his fingers. A squawk echoed from behind the bar, and a small imp leapt into view. It chortled and cavorted, its burning eyes glaring in a way that made Hilde slightly sick to see. The man cracked it on the head.

"Mistress Shadowblade. Bring. Message."

The imp whined, rubbing its head before jumping down and scuttering off into the curtained area behind the main dining room. The man retrieved his rag, continuing to wipe down the bar as if the girl in front of him had ceased to exist. Hilde stood still, trying not to fidget, as she strained for any sound of footsteps, or of the imp returning.

The curtains swept aside, and a tall woman swept into the room. She had fancifully braided glossy black hair, beset with jeweled pins that burned with the same dark amber gleam as her eyes. Her robe alternated red and black velvet, and was cinched with a bright golden belt. She stopped in front of Hilde, her eyes taking in the girl scornfully.

"It smells. You called me here for this?"

Hilde reached into her bodice, pulling out the limp letter. The woman took it with the tips of her fingers, as if not wanting to contaminate herself. She held it up, looking at the seal on the backside.

"Interesting. A message from Christof du Holemhein. Whatever could that boring paladin want?" She turned, snapping her fingers as she drove through the curtains. "Come, girl!"

Hilde forced her feet to move, brushing through the curtain in the woman's wake. Behind the curtain was a smooth stone passageway, lit with green torches. However, she noticed little of her surroundings as she ran to keep up. By the time she burst into the largish, velvet-draped room at the end of the corridor, her hostess was already seated and had opened the letter. She waved absently in Hilde's direction.

"You are dirty, so don't sit on anything," she drawled. "Just stand there while I read."

Hilde sighed, her hands clenched tight around her bundle. Her eyes slid over the furnishings in wonder. The walls were draped in rich tapestries, interspersed with gold and silver plated statues. A full bookcase took up the wall directly behind the lacquered desk. Various strange implements took up chipped tables around the room. It was a strange rustling that drew her eyes back to the woman behind the desk. While she seemed absorbed in the letter, one foot was rocking a cage of rabbits back and forth on the floor.

The rabbits' squirming occupied her attention until, with a jerk, she looked up, and saw the dark amber eyes staring at her from around the edge of the parchment. The woman dropped the letter, tapping the edge against her lips.

"So. A survivor from Scholomance." She dropped the missive to the desk, standing up to tower over the girl. "I am Vivian Shadowblade. You will call me Mistress Shadowblade or simply Mistress from now on. Understand?"

Hilde forced herself to nod. Vivian frowned, pointing down at the letter.

"According to this, you managed to survive when the Scourge took over Scholomance. I assume this is because of what you were taught there. And yet I see a milksop in front of me, barely a hint of demon fire. Do you have backbone girl, or did those light-blasted paladins convince you it was sin?"

Hilde frowned. "They took care of me after I got away. I helped them on patrol for months."

"And yet my dear old friend writes that one of them tried to kill you, is that right?" At Hilde's nod, Vivian shook her head.

"You are old enough, that between you and your demon you should have butchered anyone who tried. That tells me you aren't as progressed as my friend seems to think. Show me your demon, now."

Hilde drew back slightly. "I have no demon."

"What are you talking about girl? Summon it. Imp, voidwalker, I don't care, just summon it now."

"I have summoned a voidwalker before, but only in the ritual room at Scholomance." Hilde sighed. "My voidwalker died defending me near the shores of Andorhal."

Vivian's slap rocked Hilde's head backwards. "In the letter, it says you stole a spellbook before you left, and yet it seems you know nothing. Our demon blood lets us enslave other demons, pulling them into our reality and forcing them to do our will. They cannot die, stupid girl. The link between worlds is all that shatters. Given the tools, they can be resummoned and dispersed in service to us over and over and over. You are NEVER to be without your demon familiar!"

Vivian bent over, opening the rabbit cage and pulling out one hapless victim. She held it out, dangling by the scruff of its neck.

"This is your first test, girl. If they so rigorously controlled summoning at Scholomance, I doubt they taught you this. Your demon blood lets you feel this creature's life force. I want you to stretch out with that feeling, and focus on capturing its soul." She chuckled darkly. "Your demon blood will do the rest."

Hilde held out a shaking hand, pointing towards the squirming rabbit. Abruptly she felt the frantic drumming of its heart quivering in her ears. Long ribbons of energy shot from its body, coalescing around her fingertips. The poor rabbit shrieked, twisting into an impossible agonized shape before falling limp. Hilde swallowed back a sob, her fingers closing tightly around the gleaming pink gem that had suddenly appeared in her hand. It was smooth and warm, but holding it sickened her.

"Good," Vivian purred. "Now, you remember the spell for summoning your voidwalker. To cross the barrier between worlds requires fragments of souls. A self-respecting warlock would never sacrifice their own soul for this task. So we use other souls…animals, people, it makes little difference." She stepped closer, one cold hand surrounding Hilde's. A hard crunch, and the shard broke in her hand.

"Do the spell."

Hilde's lips moved unconsciously. As the fragments fell around her feet, the familiar summoning pattern appeared on the floor. A surge of power crested through her, and the familiar form of Fogg appeared in the room.

"Why…have you…called?" he echoed.

Hilde stood, numb in shock, as her voidwalker floated around her. Vivian sat back on her desk, her eyes coolly measuring the girl. Her fingertips played with a small bell.

"You have potential, once we undo all this unnecessary baggage done by the Light-sucking fools. You cannot afford pity, or remorse. You have already faced some of the prejudice against us out in the world. Here you will learn it is well-placed. You will learn to embrace your demon blood. You will understand power, and learn why we are so feared. You will not be coddled. You sink or swim on your own."

Vivian picked up the bell, ringing it sharply. Two hooded figures appeared, bowing deeply.

"Clean this student up, and give her a room. Her lessons start in the morning."


	7. Interlude 2

Alessandra's hands smoothed over Hilde's forehead. "The loss of that final innocence resonates in our hearts. The moment we slay something truly innocent, something without sin…no matter what path we follow, it marks us."

The mage stood, only her swishing robe flashing back and forth in front of Hilde's eyes. "It is far different from defending yourself, or slaying an enemy. I believe if you had somehow managed to slay Thorivald Irongrip then, in that dingy room in Southshore, his death would have not nearly affected you as much as that humble rabbit."

Hilde grunted, her fingers clenching and releasing around the padding. Her entire back burned, and yet maddeningly the stabbing needle continued rending her flesh.

"I know you do not wish to explore these memories," Alessandra murmured. "What led to your madness, and how you found the Crusade. But you must. To be free, you must give up this last pain."

Hilde half-closed her eyes, feeling the spell descend. Her last sight was of the gleaming emerald ring, winking in the candlelight on her left hand.


	8. Bitter Revenge

She was seventeen, and enjoying a rare free day out in the city. Her current demon, the succubus Domina, bounded along a few steps behind, winking at every male passerby. Hilde had spent the morning at Duncan's Textile shop, studying the creation of enchanted clothing. She'd learned early on, among the warlocks there was no free rides. Earning money to pay your own way was mandatory, and between adventuring in the nearby realms and sewing jobs, Hilde made enough to get by.

Spring had barely touched the southern kingdom, and chill winds still blew through the cobbled streets, but merchants and vendors continued to hawk their wares. The droning buzz was comforting. It spoke to a city full of life, unlike the forgotten lands of the north that still haunted her dreams.

Hilde pulled her cloak tight around herself, her footsteps automatically turning across the stone causeway and into the cathedral district. The massive cathedral of light hummed with activity. Motioning Domina to remain outside, Hilde joined the throng moving up the worn stone steps and into the interior.

She turned to the right, to the small alcove packed with candles. Slipping a silver piece to the altar boy in attendance, she took a candle and lit it, placing it amongst the others. Every free day she came to the cathedral and lit a taper for Christof. In the years she'd been in Stormwind, she'd never heard from the paladin. Vivian had often remarked on the foolishness of hope, and mocked her continued visits to the cathedral, but had never expressly forbidden it.

"The traitor prince has risen in the North, and given his whole land to the Scourge. You really think there is a chance your benefactor escaped his grasp?"

Hilde inclined her head, murmuring a short prayer before moving aside. The alcove was always busy since the depths of Arthas' treachery had become widely known. Even the most bitter adventurers came to pray for their families and friends left behind in the north.

Back out into the chill spring air, Hilde called to Domina and started for the Magic Quarter. Abruptly she stopped, as a strange figure appeared, weaving back and forth through the benches outside the cathedral. He had long gray hair, with flowers stuck in half-hazardly. His robe appeared to be cut from grain sacks and roughly sewn together. He shuffled around the benches, raising his hands and nodding at the passers-by, a beatific smile etched on his face. Hilde bolted down the steps, grabbing the man's arm.

"Simon? Simon, is that you?"

The seemingly elderly man turned bright eyes to her face, a look of confusion crossing his face, replaced with the beaming smile again. "Little Hilde! I remember you…well, not many little girls with white hair out there, for sure." Trembling hands touched her face, then tapped the side of her nose. "I don't remember the jewelry though."

Hilde chuckled. "All the young warlocks are getting them. But when did you get here? Is…is everyone here?"

The shadow of confusion crossed Simon's face again. "Everyone? Here? I don't know what you mean. And when did you get so tall? Did you have a growth spurt overnight?"

Hilde drew back slightly. "Simon…it's been six years since I saw you."

"Oh yes, years," Simon laughed slightly. "I forget things sometimes. Things…are foggy." He looked at her hopefully. "Buy me a pint or two, for old time's sake?"

"Sure," Hilde said, snapping her fingers. Domina giggled and leaned close.

"Mistress, he is old and soft in the head. Still, he may be good for something." The succubus wrinkled her nose. "But make him bathe first."

"Domina, go to the Canal Tavern and get us a table." She handed her demon several coins. "Tell them I want ale waiting."

Domina flicked her wings and disappeared into the crowd. Hilde took Simon's arm, pulling slightly in the direction of the canals. He went along happily, continuing to murmur softly. When they finally reached the Canal Tavern and the first tankards of ale were before him, he dove in like a famished creature. Hilde sat back on the grimy bench, Domina in the shadows behind, watching the paladin slurp up the booze. When he finally paused for breath, she leaned forward, placing one hand over his.

"Simon, it is wonderful to see you again, but I want to know what happened to the company. Christof…told me you were headed north to join Arthas' campaign in Northrend."

"I've never been in the North, no, no, no," Simon muttered, shaking his head. "I travel spreading the word of the light. The Light is everywhere, even in the rain, and in the flowers." He pulled a flower from his hair, laying it on her palm. Hilde clenched her fist, crushing it.

"Soft in the head, Mistress," Domina whispered.

Hilde sat back, tapping a finger against her lips. Simon continued sucking down the ale, almost oblivious to her presence. Finally, she leaned forward again, her eyes narrowed.

"Simon," she said, straining to shift her voice back into the squeak of childhood, "we had so much fun out on patrol! Remember those days in Alterac?"

"Of course! Trying to hunt the deer, shooting the trees instead," Simon smiled, dropping the tankard. "Ah those were the days, carefree. Kill the bad, be the hero." He sighed. "The Light has a strange sense of humor sometimes, little one."

"How do you mean?" Hilde asked, opening her eyes wide. "Did something happen?"

"It's like it happened to someone else," Simon finally muttered, sipping at the edge of the tankard. "Race to the Northern staging area. Horses exhausted. Prince on the boats, lashing the rowers, cursing the winds. Cold…so cold. Snow everywhere. Weird creatures."

"So you made it to Northrend?" Hilde asked.

"Why do you want to know this?" Simon asked, a plaintive note entering his voice. "Past is past. In the great burning of the Light, all the bad just goes away. No need to dwell on the unpleasant."

"I never knew you were a coward, Simon Magebane," Hilde said coldly.

"Coward is a word that only burns the first time. Repetition gets you used to it."

"I want to know what happened to your Captain!" Hilde snapped, shoving the tankard at the decrepit paladin. To her shock, he burst into tears.

"Cap…Captain Christof. There was a man of the Light!"

Hilde drew in her breath sharply. "He's dead?"

Simon rubbed a hand over his face, smearing his tears over his weathered cheeks. "Light knows, girl. Only the Light knows. We were on the glacier, the Prince called it Icecrown. He'd been driving us up there, cutting down men who tried to slow him down with this hideous sword he'd found. The one day he had all the men gather up in formation. Cap…it was the only time I'd ever seen him afraid. He told us to stay in the far back, with our horses ready to go, and he stood in the front. He even gave his blessed mace to Thorivald, with instructions to bring it to him if anything went wrong."

"And then?" Hilde asked.

"The Prince came out of his tent, only it wasn't him anymore. It was a monster! He mowed through the ranks, butchering his own men! And then…" Simon shook his head violently. "The corpses rose at his command, to attack the living! And every one who died, rose to help him kill the others."

Hilde sat back, numb horror spreading through her limbs. She could see the tableau in her mind, hearing the desperate screams as fresh as if she was still hiding against the cottage in Caer Darrow. It took a moment to realize Simon was still speaking.

"I heard the Cap calling to Thorivald, but he was already running and gone. And I…I ran." He sobbed. "I rode my horse until it died underneath me, and then I ran. I got off that blasted glacier, and back to the base camp. That's where the other survivors were. The boats were gone…burned to ashes. We finally managed to find a goblin ship hiding in a cove and bartered passage back to the Eastern Kingdoms. I swore to the Light, if I made it back, I would dedicate myself to the word. I gave my armor to the goblins and started on the path." The beatific smile slipped back on his face. "The Light will forgive me my transgressions, if I serve faithfully."

Hilde rocked slightly, her arms wrapped around her chest. She finally forced her numb lips to move. "Why did you come to Stormwind?"

"Thorivald said we should. I didn't mind wandering the wilds spreading the word, but he wanted to report back to paladin order."

"Thorivald…is here?" Hilde hissed. Her eyes flicked upwards, as two armored paladins came in. They looked over the tavern, noticed their table, and moved towards them.

"Simon, there you are!" the first said heartily, clapping his hand on his shoulder. "Gave us quite a scare, disappearing like that. Thank you, miss, for taking care of him. He's due to leave for Northshire Abbey. The priests there think they can help him."

"I like the grapes there. The Light is in the grapes," Simon sighed, tipping back the rest of his tankard. The second paladin pulled him to his feet.

"Yes, Simon, the Light is everywhere." They pulled him towards the door.

"Wait, Simon!" Hilde called, standing up. "I would love to catch up with Thorivald…where is he staying?"

Simon looked back over his shoulder, waving at her. "Goodbye, little Hilde. May the Light bless you!"

Hilde slammed her hand down on the table, gouging her nails deeply into the rough planking. She bit her lip hard, tasting the hot blood. The image of Thorivald running while Christof called for help tormented her. Even the thought of him being in the same city made her stomach ache.

"Domina," she growled. "I want you to find this man. A dwarf paladin called Thorivald Irongrip. Check the Dwarven District first, and all the ale houses in the city. Return to me when you have found him."

Back in the warlock stronghold behind the Slaughtered Lamb, the hours crawled by. Hilde struggled to manage her fury, but the white hot rage was preferable to the gnawing tendrils of grief that struggled to manifest. She went through her lessons in a daze. Even Vivian noticed, pausing briefly after a cursing practical.

"It looks like the demon blood is finally starting to win," she lisped.

It was three endless days later when Domina reappeared. Hilde dropped her books immediately, jumping up to shut the door to her small room.

"He is staying at a dive in the Old Town, Mistress," Domina giggled, fluffing her hair with one hand. "The Pig and Whistle. He already has quite a reputation for running through the wenches in the area. It looks as if he plans to stay for some time."

Hilde dropped to her bed, her mind racing. "Did he see you, Domina?"

"Of course not, Mistress."

"Good." Hilde opened her closet, pulling out a voluminous cloak. She handed it to her demon, who regarded it with some amusement.

"Put it on. Make sure your demon features are covered. I want you to go to the Pig and Whistle tonight. Buy the dwarf ale. Get him drunk. Seduce him. When the bells ring the eleventh hour, take him outside into the alleyway."

"Yes, Mistress." Domina swung the cloak around her form and vanished. Hilde knelt and opened her trunk, searching amidst the folds of cloth. Finally, her fingers found her target. Glittering in the soft light was the knife she'd taken from Scholomance. She stroked the blade gently before slipping it into the sheath around her waist.

Bribing the night watchman inside the Slaughtered Lamb was easy. A few silver, and he let her pass into the darkness. Hilde pulled her dark cloak up over her bright hair, and slid through the empty streets towards the Old Town. The only sounds in the black were the brief raucous calls from the taverns, and the plaintive calls from the women of the evening.

The Pig and Whistle was easy to find. Besides being the largest inn in the quarter, it was brightly lit in defiance of the shabby surroundings. Hilde moved into the cool shadows of the alleyway across from the tavern, her fingers drifting to her knife. Her entire body felt flushed, and her stomach clenched tight.

The great bells struck eleven, and two shapes appeared in the doorway. Domina led the way, her dark eyes glittering. Behind her, a smaller, squat shape that seemed completely absorbed with patting her on the behind. Hilde hissed between her teeth. The dwarf had aged, but no where near as much as Simon. As she watched, Domina giggled and turned, pulling him towards the alley.

"Ye like it in strange places, lass," Thorivald drawled, a drunken slur punctuating his words. "I got a nice bed upstairs for a good bounce. Nice and warm."

"It's more exciting out here," Domina purred. She flicked her eyes at her mistress, pulling the dwarf past her and into the shadows. "I promise you won't be disappointed."

Hilde took a deep breath and stepped after them, as Thorivald's hands disappeared inside Domina's cloak. "Let see what you've got hidden in here…By the Light!"

Thorivald threw the succubus away from him, grabbing for the weapon at his waist. Hilde growled, automatically whispering the silencing curse. Thorivald spat, gesturing with his hammer. His eyes swiveled to the warlock.

"One of you demon spawn!" He threw his head back and laughed, reeling drunkenly against the stones. "I haven' had the fun of killin' one of you in years!"

Hilde moved her hands up, pulling back the hood. "You cowardly bastard. I'm not a little girl anymore, and you will pay for Christof's death."

"Little Hilde," Thorivald growled. He whirled, his hammer lashing out. It caught Domina across the legs, crumpling the succubus to the ground. She screamed out breathlessly, balling up on the cobblestones. Thorivald spat on her, kicking the helpless demon.

"Up to your old tricks, aren't you, demon. Trying to seduce the good men of the Light. The poor Captain, you poisoned him with your evil. All that was left of his goodness was buried in his hammer." Thorivald waved his weapon in the air, before burying it in Domina's side. She cried out again, her hands stretching out towards her mistress. "He deserved what he got. He was judged, and his sins punished." Thorivald laughed again, the chill sound echoing off the stones. "This beauty was too precious to waste on a dead man."

Hilde drew herself up straight, her eyes flashing. "I would agree."

Thorivald lunged at her, only to reel backwards from her shadowy blast. Hilde's lips twisted, every curse she'd ever learned flying from her lips. Thorivald shook under the onslaught, struggling to reach her. Hilde spread her fingers wide, summoning up every drop of shadow energy in her body to lash the dwarf. He finally dropped under the barrage, balling up with a hoarse cry inches away from her feet.

Hilde grabbed him around the throat, feeling the blessed demon strength flow through her body. She lifted the dwarf, propping him against the wall. She removed the hammer from his hand, dropping it to the ground with a thud. She slid the blade from its sheath, turning it so the steel glittered under the stars.

"What did you say to me, that you would make it quick?" Hilde leaned close, her lips nearly touching Thorivald's ear. "I won't make it quick. You deserve every bit for what you tried to do to me, and for leaving Christof to die!"

She felt strength swell through her form, and slammed her hand over his mouth, muffling his cries. She barely noticed her hand was now a violet claw, digging into his flesh. With a roar of triumph she slammed her blade into his chest. Thorivald jerked, his eyes widening behind her hand. Hilde growled and slammed her knife again and again into his chest. The paladin struggled weakly in her grip. Finally, Hilde threw the knife away, driving her hand up into his chest to close around his fluttering heart.

"How I have dreamed of this," she panted, her voice rasping. She released his face, her claws just touching his skin. "And now…" Long purple ribbons of energy began to flow. Thorivald screamed, his heart pounding in her grip.

"Captain…Christof…what would he think!" he gurgled. Hilde laughed hysterically, her hand clenching tightly. Thorivald's heart burst in her grip, dousing her arm with blood. Her other hand closed on the smooth shard of soul, as his body slid down the wall.

"You are dismissed, Domina," Hilde said coldly, snapping her fingers. The struggling succubus vanished with a soft wail. Hilde brought her hand to her face, her tongue licking the bits of blood and flesh from her fingers.

"Bravo, my dear!" a voice called. Hilde looked up sharply, to see Vivian leaning at the edge of the alley. She stepped delicately over the spreading pools of blood.

"Finally you are a true warlock," she purred. "You have slain an enemy, and rejoiced in his destruction. I saw you transform."

Hilde stepped back, abruptly seeing her blood-drenched hands and the slumped body at her feet, tasting flesh in her mouth. She gagged, spitting desperately. Vivian laughed, tossing back her braids.

"There's nothing to be upset about. You finally accepted what you are."

"I'm not like this!" Hilde cried, stepping back further.

Vivian shook her head. "Don't deny it, Hilde. I saw the rapture on your face. You enjoyed killing that man. You finally allowed your demonic side some release. Embrace it!"

Hilde's eyes strayed back to the mutilated body on the ground. In the semi-dark, Thorivald looked smaller then she remembered, and his eyes still bulged in his final terror. She fought against the desire to smile just at the memory of his cries. Just beyond him, the forgotten hammer shone with a soft golden light. It was an icy wave over her heart. All the times she'd helped polish it, had watched it for hours while riding behind Christof, to see it gleaming in the puddle of blood in a filthy alley. Hilde felt a hideous wrench deep in her heart.

She whirled and ran through the alley, shoving her way past the thugs and whores. The stench of the blood coating her rose, clotting in her nostrils. She skidded to her knees, vomiting, then struggled up to throw off the helping hands. In a daze, she ran. It was the stench of birds that finally focused her attention. She was on the gryphon platform high above Stormwind, and a sleepy Gryphon Master was asking her where she wanted to go.

"North. As far North as you can send me."


	9. Dawn of the Crusade

The rolling fields of Lordaeron were now called the Plaguelands. A viscous brown haze hovered over rotting vegetation, polluted the rivers choked with bodies, and masked the monstrous creatures that now called it home. Huge maggots crawled across the countryside, feasting on rotting remains. Former towns seethed with Scourge forces, mindlessly patrolling for their master.

Beneath the tangles of the dead bushes, Hilde crouched, her eyes scanning the road. Her felhound gave a soft whimper next to her. The young warlock was nearly skeletal-thin, her hair tangled and matted, her clothing tattered. Since that long-ago night when she'd fled Stormwind, she'd haunted the Plaguelands, slaughtering Scourge wherever she found them. The few uninfected adventurers to cross her path were butchered for their supplies.

A howl echoed from the road. Hilde shifted her sword, gripping the hilt. An orc appeared, his wolf mount staggering in exhaustion. Two abominations swam out of the murk, giving chase. She watched impassively as their hooks swung out, dragging the orc off his mount. The wolf's rattling cry rang out. The orc swung desperately, his axe beheading one behemoth. The second gurgled and hacked. The orc fell, crying loudly.

Hilde bolted upright, dashing to the road. Her felhound launched upwards, biting at the abomination's face. Her lips moved, summoning fire. The abomination roared, the flames eating into its stitched flesh. Hilde spun, her blade slicing the corrupted form into pieces.

The orc stared at her. Hilde flicked the blade, her eyes measuring the downed form. Her felhound growled softly. She tilted her head, taking in the full packs on the mount. Taking a firmer grip on her sword, she hacked off the orc's head.

Hilde worked quickly, stripping the body of food and water, tucking the supplies in her own bags before setting fire to the corpses. It did not pay to linger around the fallen in this land of death. Snapping her fingers, she melted back into the underbrush, her demon frisking around her.

There was no thought in this land, only killing and the sharp scent of rotten flesh exploding beneath the blade. Nothing mattered. She'd even managed to get into the ruins of her old school, and had slain all who remained. Vaguely, she knew several had even recognized her before her shadow bolts had brought them down.

Hilde stopped against the bole of a rotten tree, panting slightly. She slipped her fingers to the bandage on her left arm, unwinding the soaked cloth. The edges of the gash were green, the flesh beneath swollen and bleeding. She twisted the cap off the stolen water bottle, spilling some of the precious liquid over the burning wound. It cooled slightly, enough to be able to re-wrap it tightly out of sight.

She staggered on in the endless empty twilight, approaching the outskirts of Corin's Crossing. At the first few flickers in the gloom, she licked her burning lips, tightening her hand on her sword. A motion, and her felhound bounded out. His rasping growl brought a bleak smile to her lips, as she charged forward, sending curses flying. The small knot of ghouls scattered a moment too slowly. With her felhound to keep them from calling help, she burned them all to cinders.

Trembling, she forced herself to skirt the town and lake for the relative safety of the nearby hills. Once clear of the main Scourge paths, Hilde sank down, leaning hard against a jutting outcropping. Since her injury nearly a month ago, she'd been getting weaker and weaker. She tried shoving some of the orc's food in her mouth, managing to chew and swallow a few bites before gagging. Her felhound gave a soft growl and wormed beneath her arm, its tentacles gently patting her arm below the bandage.

"I won't fall to them," she panted. She stared upwards, towards where the sun should be shining far to the south. Desperate tears slid from her eyes. "I will make you proud of me."

The soft rustle of the leave were her only warning. Hilde threw herself sideways, shoving her felhound off to the side. A swarm of ghouls raced through the brush, their gore-coated nails slashing at her face. She rolled, heart racing, feeling the demon blood burn and focus her concentration. Her clawed hands met theirs, rending their flesh. Panting and growling, she smashed and ripped, her only focus the destruction of the forms before her.

When the last rotted body fell, Hilde fell to her knees, her body heaving vainly. Every time the demonic rush left her, she was weaker then before. She pressed her face against the tepid ground, gashing her skin against the sharp rocks. The pain allowed her to focus, enough to drag herself once more to her feet and stumble into the brush.

A slight dimming of the haze told her night was approaching. Hilde shivered despite the fetid warmth, her left arm hanging useless at her side. She could just make out a few weathered buildings looming in the haze ahead, and forms flitting between them. Her right hand squeezed the hilt of her naked sword. Her felhound looked up with a soft urrr.

"We will keep killing as long as we can," she whispered, feeling a last push boiling inside her. "If it looks like I am about to fall, kill me Jh'doom."

She broke out of the trees, a desperate howl bursting from her chest. The forms scattered around her. The surroundings whirled as she slashed with the sword, the strangely unmarked bodies dancing away from her blade. She finally focused on a large figure off to the side, lunging forward towards it with a cry.

The world spun as a massive golden flash sent her flying. Hilde crashed to the ground, her entire body screaming with pain. She thrashed weakly, trying to find her feet, as the dark shapes surrounded her.

"Sleep," a voice whispered. Hilde gasped, her eyes shutting against her will, her consciousness fleeing into the void.

The first sensation was of coolness on her face. Hilde kept her eyes closed, savoring the rare sensation. Slowly, she became aware of a scratchy fabric tickling her chin, and soft linens underneath her fingers. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes.

Weathered and scratched timbers met her view. She was staring at a vaulted ceiling, dappled with colors from a stained glass window somewhere to the left. Torches flickered on the walls. She rolled her head, finally gazing at the figure seated next to the bed. It was a large man, fully armored, with graying hair and a full beard. His eyes reminded her vaguely of Christof's, so long ago next to Darrowmere Lake.

"Welcome back to the Light, little sister," he said. Hilde chuckled weakly, turning her eyes back to the ceiling.

"Another paladin. Just my luck." She sighed. "Just where am I?"

"You are at Light's Hope Chapel, the headquarters of the Argent Crusade. I am Tirion Fordring. I am the leader here."

"I tried to kill you, didn't I? Sorry about that, I thought you were Scourge."

"Obviously," he said dryly. "You've been in the Plaguelands a long time. That wound you had was infected. Our healers managed to purge the infection, or you would have died."

"You may as well have let the infection finish the job."

"I think you know what happens when that particular infection runs its course," Fordring said softly. "And I don't think your felhound would have been able to end your undeath as you may have hoped." He tilted his head. "You seem awfully young to be chasing death."

"The world is a cruel place. Does it matter why anyone does anything?"

"Why don't you tell me about why you decided to take up residence in the Plaguelands. Not very successfully either, I may add."

Hilde snorted. "I've slain my share of Scourge, and cleaned out a cultist nest in Scholomance. That's successful enough."

"Such successes never last very long. Not while the traitor Prince lives. His minions spring up endlessly. All our efforts here are simple stopgap measures to stay his advance."

"Fine," Hilde sighed. She leaned back on the pallet, letting the words flow. Only the flickering torches marked the passage of time. As she finally trailed off, Fordring gave a soft whistle.

"You are like many of those in the Crusade, little sister. We are those who have lost everything to the Scourge. All we have is our honor, and our determination to end this war. We serve the Light in the hope that our sacrifice will bring peace to the fallen."

Hilde chuckled. "I am about as far away from the Light as you can get. I am part demon, after all. I've killed people and enjoyed it." She turned her head, staring at the wall. "I shamed the one person who showed me kindness in my entire life."

"I doubt that," Fordring said. "If anything, paladin Christof instilled quite a sense of honor in you. In the end, that is all we have. Our honor and our integrity, beyond anything else, shapes who we are. We have other warlocks here in the service of the Crusade. We have priests who are cold-blooded killers, and rogues who cry every time they have to end someone's suffering. Your sense of honor drove you to uphold your sense of justice on one who wronged you. And for that one act, you have amply atoned. How long will you torture yourself needlessly?"

"I don't know what to do," Hilde whispered.

"You have a long recovery ahead of you, little sister, but the Crusade can be home. We need fighters like you to champion the cause. Think about it." Fordring stood, patting Hilde's shoulder. "As long as Arthas stands, we will fight, for all those who have suffered and died needlessly."


	10. Epilogue

Hilde lay limply on the gurney, her eyes focused on the great emerald ring. The aching in her back seemed miles away, lost in the cool green depths. "Lord Fordring gave me this ring, the day I pledged myself to the Crusade. It was one of the happiest days of my life."

"You are all done, Lady Hilde," Phu'lou said, his breath puffing out through his whiskers in satisfaction. "Truly, it is the most magnificent work I have ever done."

Alessandra bent over the table, unfastening the straps and helping Hilde to her feet. She held the warlock's gaze, smiling gently as she nodded towards the mirror. "Look, my sister, and see how your trials have marked you."

Hilde glanced over her shoulder, focusing on the image. The tattoo of a great sword adorned her back. The intricate cross piece ran from shoulder to shoulder, and the hilt began just at the base of her neck. The blade ran smoothly down her spine, ending just above her buttocks.

It was the design that amazed her. Shining tendrils wove across the hilt, thorns appearing to glisten with dew. The blade itself seemed to glow. About halfway down the blade, a thick crust of red and black coated the blade. She stared intently, making out the runes seemingly etched into the image.

"What does it say?" she asked.

"Honor transcends all," Phu'lou answered.

"Lady Hilde du Holemhein, you have passed through the ritual of suffering. I have witnessed your memories, and found you strong, and pure of heart. Do you swear yourself to the Argent Crusade, to bend yourself and your powers to the defeat of the Scourge, in this life, and beyond?"

"I so swear," Hilde said firmly. Alessandra leaned forward, kissing the warlock on the forehead.

"Then you shall be, Lady Hilde, shield maiden of the Argent Crusade, now and forever."

It was a scant week later when the letter came. Summons from the front. Hilde strode confidently out onto Krasus' Landing, her faithful gryphon already waiting. The thought of action thrilled her to the bone. She waved to the flight master, mounting up and urging her mount down, down, and towards the distant front. Icecrown glacier lay ahead, and beyond it, the monster responsible for all her pain. And it would suffer, beyond anything that had ever been imagined, or she would die in the attempt.


End file.
